


hold my hand (but set me free)

by lilabut



Series: the dirt in which our roots may grow [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Drabble Sequence, F/M, Missing Scene, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inside of him, Daryl fights the tug in two opposite directions. Carol. Freedom. Her arms. Open roads. <i>Two missing moments between Carol and Daryl during 6x10.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. unchained

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, and follows _let morning wash it all away_.

Carol can feel beams of sunlight tickling the exposed skin of her neck and face, warming her comfortably. It's different from the humid heat of Georgia, gentler and more welcome. A blush blossoms beneath freckled, pale skin, and Daryl catches himself mesmerized by the sight for just a moment too long.  
  
 _Do you really have to go?_ If she has noticed him staring then she keeps any smart comment about it bottled up. Concern seeps from her voice instead, blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight. The silver curls of her hair reflect the rays much like the lake, little diamonds scattered all around ( _when has her hair grown out this much?_ Daryl wonders, still thriving of the memory of her curls tickling his face when he woke, wrapped around her, weeks ago).  
  
 _Runnin' low on everything_ , he explains. She knows this, which makes his reply as redundant as her question.  
  
 _I know_ , Carol sighs, worry flaring inside if her. How often has she waved him goodbye? Countless times. Until now, he has always returned, sometimes triumphant, other times battered and bruised. Could this lucky streak go on forever? Without the crossbow slung over his shoulder, he looks unusually naked and exposed. _I understand you need to be out there. I do._ His eyes drop towards his boots, nudging the tips against the warmed asphalt. _I know you_. Her words from the clearing still haunt him until this day, and despite the familiarity with them he feels the dreaded blush that crawls up his neck.   
  
This is a cage, no matter how much electricity or warm water they have left. Around them, new walls are erected, and he can feel them closing in on him already. He wants this place to work, to stay standing, to be the home the children deserve. But he can not be chained to it. Carol understands that, so aware herself of the dangers that loom within the warm coat of shelter and comfort. This place still holds the power to weaken them, even after everything they paid to earn it.  
  
 _Gotta go_ , he mutters, but he does not move despite his words. Inside of him, he fights the tug in two opposite directions. Carol. Freedom. Her arms. Open roads.  
  
 _Stay safe._ Her smile illuminates her face, melts away fine lines of worry and sleepless nights. Proof of the horrors she has lived through, both before and after the world came to its untimely end. Both of them were born again in the ashes and debris, a bond that is as thin as it is strong.  
  
Without a second thought, Daryl reaches out for her, calloused fingers curling gently around her wrist. She has rolled up her sleeves, and so there is nothing to hide her brief shiver at his touch from him. He offers her a smile in return, knowing it could never compare to hers. But it seems to be enough for her.  
  
Chastely, heart setting an erratic pace, Daryl allows his thumb to circle across her pulse point, surprised to find that her pulse has adapted to his own restless rhythm.  
  
Carol sighs when he eventually and much too quickly drops her hand, the sound of it stirring a fire inside Daryl that sets every fiber of his body ablaze. With a curt nod, he quickly turns away, unwilling to let the sudden heat distract him.

 

She watches quietly as he walks away, wrapping her own slender fingers around her wrist, cold and too soft and no comparison. His wings glow a little in the sunlight, and she is proud of her handiwork, nothing to show for the cut that had spoiled them. They span and move as he walks, until eventually, he disappears around a corner.  
  
Brisk steps carry him, but his fingers still tremble when he takes out the list of medical supplies that Denise had written. His skin still tingles where it has touched Carol's, distracting him even as the heat in his belly resigns and turns to embers. His eyes scan over the last item on the list with confusion.  
  
 _The hell?_


	2. enchanted

His cigarette glimmers in the dark, smoke gliding from his mouth in smooth waves. They swirl and disperse in the air. It is a comforting sight, one that is never changing. It reminds him of long forgotten nights, sitting in the bed if his truck with Merle, beer bottles in their hands and sharing the last smoke in his pack. Drifting. Always drifting. Still, it is one if his sweeter memories of his brother; he chooses to hold on to it, not allowing it to disperse into the night, as well.

  
  
Soft steps alert him, but he remains still, leaning against the wall. It's no walker.

  
  
Daryl is surprised when Carol comes into view. She has a robe wrapped around her pajamas, tied neatly in the front. Her boots are strapped around her feet, striped pajama bottoms stuffed hastily inside them. The sight makes him chuckle.

  
  
_I heard you're back_ , she notes, slowly stepping up onto the porch. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest despite the mild breeze. He has a feeling she waited up for them to return, but he keeps his theory to himself. He has seen the way her hair usually sticks out in all possible directions after she has slept. Right now, however, it is smooth and silky. Inviting.

  
  
Daryl does not bother with a reply, dropping the cigarette onto the floorboards, suffocating the last heat with his boot. Ash spoils the spot, and it earns him a disapproving look from Carol.

  
  
_How did it go?_ She takes the spot next to him, pressing her shoulder blades against the wall, crossing her ankles. With this little space between them, Daryl can feel his skin prickling, the echo if her touch still strong enough to raise the hairs on his arms.

  
  
_Found a truck full o' supplies._ The disappointment of losing such a gold mine rests heavily on his bones. _An' some prick who stole it._ Carol scrunches her eyebrows, obviously concerned. Lately, new people have brought them nothing but bad luck, death and destruction. _Got the prick, ain't got the truck_ , he sighs, nodding towards the closed door. _Doc's lookin' at him. Gonna put him in the cell._

  
  
Briefly, he wonders if he should tell her why. Mention that their prisoner saved his life. He decides against it rather quickly, not wanting to worry her. Not tonight.

  
  
He turns his head back towards her, the wall cool against his cheek. Carol has done the same, and suddenly there is next to no space between them. Her minty breath dampens his skin, prickles against his lips.

  
  
_Are you coming back home?_ she whispers, every syllable humming and vibrating in the scarce inches between them.

  
  
He is not sure if she is simply asking him to sleep in his own bed tonight, get some rest after an eventful and exhausting day. Maybe walk her home (he has never walked a girl home in his life, and while that has never once bothered him before, daryl suddenly feels cheated for not getting the opportunity with her). His own thoughts embarrass him. In his mind, he can here Merle telling him to grow some balls. But the heat that rises in his cheeks is unrelated to his embarrassment. Instead, it is entirely to blame on the hopeful smile on Carol's lips.

  
  
To hope for the alternative seems foolish. That she is asking him to share his bed with her again. Never would he make assumptions, but he can not help his thoughts from wandering. They haven't slept in the same room since that night, but he can not stop thinking about it. Despite having spent many nights so close together during their long winter on the road, and even during those bitter days on their journey from Atlanta, it is all new and uncharted territory. Then, it had been out if necessity or coincidence (although he found himself drifting towards carol far too often for it to be by chance).

  
  
That night had been different.

 

He has never slept more peacefully in his entire life, neither before nor after. At least, he does not believe he has. Usually, he puts all his effort into erasing memories of _before_ (with very few exceptions). They are unwelcome, and feel detached. Almost as if they belonged to a different man. Daryl knows that Carol feels similar, that she holds on to barely anything that still connects her to life _before_.

  
  
Longing to savor the calm and peacefulness that her arms offered, his eyes drift down towards her lips. They are slightly parted, glistening in the moonlight. When their eyes meet again, he knows he has been caught, but her steadfast smile does not waver.

  
  
_Can't_ , he mutters, disappointed. His sigh fills the space between them. _Have ta keep an eye on him._

 

Silently, he curses the son of a bitch – what did he say his name was? Jesus? - for ruining this. He never should have let Rick talk him into bringing him back. It eats him up, the wish to walk back home with Carol, if only to tell her _goodnight_.

 

Her smile fades away, and he mourns the loss of it almost instantly. In one smooth movement, she uncrosses her arms, allowing them to fall gracefully towards her sides. It might have been a coincidental move, but when her hand brushes the back of his _just so_ , Daryl remembers that nothing Carol does is ever by coincidence.

 

Her fingers, clever and gentle and soft and everything that his own will never be, curl almost non-nonchalantly around his wrist. Just like his own have done this morning.

 

Daryl's throat constricts when he finds her crystal clear blue eyes focused on his lips, a shiver running from the tip of his fingers all the way to the nape of his neck, rushing like a blaze of wildfire. They are so close, too close. His imagination runs wild when her finger draws elegant circles against his skin, smooth and delicate compared to the smudged sketches he has left behind on her pale skin before.

 

Her lips call for him, his heart moaning against the restraints he has tied around it. She pulls at them with each swipe of her thumb, with every flicker of her eyes towards his lips. Something seems to linger between them, words that he can almost see at the tip of her tongue when it slips from her mouth to wet her lips. That only stirs the fire in his guts, and the onslaught of bravery and confidence that it brings drives him a bit closer to her, inch by inch.

 

Their noses are almost touching, his own fingers fumbling to grasp for hers, aching to slip them in the empty spaces between. Carol denies him that, a firm hold on his wrist keeping him in place. Instead, she leans forward as well, just the breadth of an inch, her eyes finally abandoning his lips to meet his.

 

Whatever it is she can not say is holding them back.

 

The tip of his nose nudges hers, and Daryl can no longer contain the huff of breath he has been holding in. Carol sighs in response, a little voice to it, almost too much to bear.

 

When her lips part, Daryl is almost certain that she is ready to say whatever has been on her mind.

 

_We'll take him to the cell._ Rick's muffled voice breaks the silence, and gives them both enough time to jump a few feet apart, startled, before the door is opened and Rick steps out onto the porch.

 

_He's fine_ , he states, greeting Carol with a nod to which she does not respond. _Let's take him to the cell before he wakes up_. He eyes Daryl expectantly, hands propped against his hips, before stepping back inside, leaving the door open for Daryl to follow.

 

When Daryl turns back to Carol, she is already making her way back down the porch, boots thudding quietly and hurriedly against the steps.

 

The _goodnight_ he wanted to say dies on his tongue.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did not want to make these missing moments a thing, but then I had an unexpected break at work this morning, and this happened. So, I'm guessing it will be a weekly thing.


End file.
